


All Your Broken Pieces

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A single bit of wisdom has served Lestrade well over the years when it comes to dealing with his and others love lives, and keeping hope alive that one day the right person will come along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Your Broken Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> A veeeeery long time ago (we're talking years here, way back when I first started writing Sherlock fic in, oh, 2012) I got an anonymous prompt to write a Lestrade/Molly fic with the prompt _hope_. Three years later I finally answered it. Better late then never, yeah? Also, for anyone curious, [this](http://s21.postimg.org/5v0u4mrlz/687c48b33e77450b323f613f1ebb6f39.jpg) is what the front of the card Molly gives Lestrade looks like.

He spun his wedding band on top of his desk. He was officially divorced. He wanted to say good riddance to his wife, wanted to say he was glad for it, but truthfully? He was sad. He was alone again, after putting all that time and effort into trying to make things work, into fixing things. Trying so hard, and failing so miserably.

He sighed when he heard a knock at the door. “Yes?” he asked, looking up. Only then did his eyes widen. “Oh. Molly. Hi.”

“Hi,” she said shyly, and he noticed she was carrying a plastic container. “Um…I remembered today was the day…you know.”

“The day my marriage was officially over?” he said with a wry smile.

She nodded. “Anyway, I thought you might like…something. It’s not much, but it’s just for you. To kind of lift up your spirits.” She brought in the container and he saw there was a card on top in a blue envelope. “If you need to talk…”

“Thanks, Molly,” he said, his smile being more genuine.

Her smile got wider. “All right.” 

She left, and then he picked up the card. He opened it and saw a multicolored background with hearts and white text on it. _One day someone is going to hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will stick back together,_ it said, attributing the quote to Anonymous. He opened the note and saw that Molly had written _It’ll get better. I’m here if you need me. Molly._ and after a moment he set it on his desk before opening the plastic container. Inside were a dozen chocolate chunk and toffee chip biscuits. He grinned and pulled one out, taking a bite. It was delicious. He felt better, now, and at least a little less alone.

\--

He watched her after the funeral, studied her. She seemed forlorn. He knew she had fancied Sherlock, and his death had to have hit her hard. It had certainly hit him hard, and the guilt he felt…the guilt he felt was like a stone around his neck. If the accusations had been handled differently, if he hadn’t been paraded around as a fake, if he’d just been more supportive, perhaps Sherlock wouldn’t have jumped. Perhaps things wouldn’t have ended so damn badly.

Perhaps so many of his friends wouldn’t be hurting.

He had no idea how to help John. John was too far into his depression, sunk too deep to pull up on his own. But Molly he could probably help, lend an ear to. Offer a kind word to, take out for a pint to let her ramble and vent. So he rang her up and asked to meet up at the pub closest to St. Bart’s.

When she got there she gave him a sad smile, and her got up and embraced her on instinct. She relaxed into the embrace, resting her head on his chest. “Thanks, Greg,” she said, her voice slightly muffled. “I needed that.”

“A really great piece of advice I got once was that one day someone is going to hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will stick back together,” he said with a grin. “I think it’s pretty sound advice.”

“I think it’s excellent advice,” she said. “The person who gave it to you must be smart.”

“She’s one of the smartest women I know,” he said, grinning at her when she pulled away. She grinned back and he felt his heart lighten. Together, maybe they’d get through this. Maybe they’d weather through. Maybe, just maybe, they’d be okay.

\--

He watched her at the wedding. He’d seen her and her fiancé and it seemed…off. They weren’t as happy as they appeared. One day, and one day soon, Molly was going to realize it. It was going to hit her smack dab in the face and she was going to have to make some serious decision about her future and what she wanted and who she wanted in it.

Eventually he managed to get a dance with her, a rather slow one, much to the consternation of Tom. He had entertained thoughts of this, over the years, but once again the timing was off, things weren’t quite right. It was the way it always was with them, it seemed. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked, swaying in time with the music.

She glanced at Tom. “I suppose,” she said quietly.

His gaze flicked in the same direction, and then he turned back to her. Eventually she looked back at him, giving a sad smile. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”

“What?” he asked, giving her a fond smile.

“Broken pieces. How everyone is made from them, and how one day someone is going to hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will stick back together. And how sometimes the person you think is going to do it isn’t the one who’s going to do it,” she said.

“Maybe the person is still out there,” he said.

“Maybe,” she said, giving him a sad smile. “I just thought I was done looking.”

“Well, if you’re lucky, if you do have to look again, you won’t have to look far,” he said.

“Hopefully,” she said, her smile brightening slightly. He tightened his hold just slightly, stepped closer, and for a moment hoped maybe, if it happened, she’d look at him.

\--

He’d seen the video, just like everyone else. Scotland Yard had been fielding calls left and right, and he wanted five minutes of peace and quiet. Just five minutes. Yet there it was, a knock at the door. “Go away,” he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Molly say quietly. “I …”

His eyes flew open and were wide as he looked at her. “Oh God, Molly! I didn’t mean you. I just thought you were Sally or Dimmock or someone. Someone bothering me about another phone call or another one of my superiors wanting to speak to me.”

“Oh,” she said. She came into his office. “Sherlock’s back. He didn’t leave.”

“Good. Someone else who can help me sort through this mess,” he said, relaxing slightly. “He made a beeline for you, did he?”

She nodded. “He did.”

“Bet you felt better.”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

He gave her a strange look. “Why not?”

“Moriarty’s playing the game with _him_ , and we’re all just caught up in it.” He saw there were tears at the corners of her eyes and he was up in an instant, pulling her close. She embraced him back, and he could feel the tension ebb out of her. “I feel better, now. I feel safer. I feel…whole.”

“One day someone is going to hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will stick back together,” he murmured.

She pulled away and looked up at him, nodding slowly. “I think…I think you’re my someone,” she said quietly. “I think you always have been and I just didn’t see it until today.”

“I think you’re my someone too,” he said, pulling her close again. He felt hope, for the first time since he say Moriarty’s smug face, and that was a wonderful feeling.


End file.
